Criminal Minded

by Tracy Brown

  Lamin led me to the back of VIP and we sat at a table.

  “What’s goin’ on, Zion?” he asked me. “What brings you here tonight?”

  “I thought I was invited.”

  Lamin sipped his drink. “You ain’t gotta be invited, I’m just sayin’ that I ain’t heard from you in a while, and I’m wondering why you chose to show up here.”

  I saw Curtis standing off to the side, talkin’ to a nigga I didn’t recognize and I wanted to blow his brains out. Curtis kept his eye on our table and I was keeping an eye on him as well. “What’s up with your cousin, Lamin?”

  Lamin put his drink down and looked at me. “What’s up with him?”

  “The nigga actin’ like he want beef with me, Lamin. And word on the block is he’s talkin’ too much.” I was givin’ it to him straight. I had heard a lot worse about Curtis. Heard about the hate he was spewing against his cousin. Heard that he was suspected of snitchin’.

  Lamin looked stunned but not exactly surprised by my words. “Ask him.” Lamin waited for my response and I shrugged. He summoned Curtis over to the table.

  Curtis made his way through the crowd and over to our table. He pulled up a chair and Lamin sat back. “Wassup?” Curtis looked at Lamin, and I watched their exchange.

  “Zion tells me you been talking too much lately.”

  Curtis looked at me with hate in his eyes. “Is that right, Zion?”

  I nodded. “You underestimate my reach in this game, muthafucka. You act like I can’t find out about your conversations with law enforcement.”

  “Law enforcement?” Curtis’ voice was booming. But I wasn’t fazed. I knew all about his shady dealings, and I dared him to say it was lies. He knew I was right. He stared at me. People standing around us began to stare as well. I felt bad, knowing that Lamin didn’t need the embarrassment of a confrontation at that point. But there was no turning back now. Lamin narrowed his eyes and looked dead at Curtis.

  Lamin sat forward. “What fuckin’ conversations?”

  “Curtis told the cops that I killed Donovan. He put you at the scene and Olivia—”

  “What?” Lamin was tight! I could feel Curtis’ eyes trying to burn through my soul.

  “He gave me up to save his self. He told them all about the day Donovan was killed. Curtis said you told him about it, Lamin. He said you talked to him about it and told him how you were glad they never came lookin’ for us. He told them about how Donovan beat Olivia’s ass and that I killed him. He didn’t make any negative statements about you or Olivia—other than the fact that the two of you were there. He just pointed the finger at me. His conversation with the cops would have been enough to put me in jail, but they still can’t find the gun. They can’t prove it, based solely on this snitch nigga’s information. My lawyer, Maury, finds out everything.” I sat back and let my words settle in the air. Nobody spoke. I knew that Curtis was impressed by the length of my reach in the game. He never thought that I would find out about the deal he made under the table. He was an informant, planted to get information that would bring me down.

  Lamin spoke first. “Curtis, tell me something good.”

  Curtis looked at me for a long time. I looked right back at him. I wasn’t scared of Curtis. His size and height didn’t intimidate me. I had flipped the script on his snitchin’ bitch ass. He better be scared of me! He turned and looked at Lamin.

  “Don’t listen to this muthafucka.”

  “After all this time, it did seem funny that they reopened that case. Now it’s all starting to make sense, cousin.” Lamin nodded and looked at Curtis. “You turned snitch, Curtis?”

  Curtis didn’t respond. He just looked at his cousin, and I could see Lamin adding up the whole equation. It seemed that at that moment, for the first time, Lamin saw just how jealous Curtis was of him. He saw just how much things had changed between them. They were no longer young boys on the block shootin’ the breeze. Now they were grown men, rivals. And one of them was a rat.

  Lamin said, “I don’t fuck with snitches, Curtis.” I saw the look of panic on Curtis’ face, and that was all she wrote.

  Curtis and Lamin pulled out guns at the same time. Neither of them fired. I sat there, trying not to make any sudden moves while two angry niggas had guns drawn. But all around us, people were runnin’ and diving for cover. I saw Olivia trying to make her way over toward the table. She walked slowly, maneuvering through the crowd of panicked people, and our eyes locked. I hoped she could read the message in my eyes. I was telling her to stay back. If anything happened to her, I might as well be dead.

  Curtis looked desperate. “Lamin, don’t believe this muthafucka! He’s lyin’. Put your gun down, and I’ll put mines down.”

  Lamin had a look in his eyes that I never saw before. I saw him shake his head at his cousin. “You a snitch, Curtis? You fuckin’—”

  Before he could finish the sentence, Curtis turned his gun on me. I looked down the barrel of Curtis’ Glock. “You gonna believe this muthafucka over me, Lamin?” Lamin kept his gun pointed at Curtis. “You gonna take this nigga’s word for it?”

  Curtis glared at me. “I never liked you. Not from the moment I met you.” He fired. Olivia screamed, “NO, CURTIS!” Other women screamed around us, and the room seemed to be erupting in chaos. The blast knocked me out of my seat, and I hit the floor hard and was soon unconscious. But not before hearing the bullets flyin’ and the shots bustin’.

  TWENTY-FOUR

  the grand finale

  Lamin

  I heard the shot that sent Zion flyin’. I saw the look on Curtis’ face as he pulled the trigger. What I somehow never heard was the sound of my own gun bustin’ off at my cousin. I shot Curtis when Zion went down. And to my surprise, Curtis rose out of his seat and shot back at me, viciously. We shot it out in the W Hotel that night. And I still can’t remember hearing the shots. But I did see the hole that was left when I shot Curtis in the middle of his chest. We both came out of that club with injuries that night. Except mine were not life threatening, while Curtis was comatose. I was treated at the scene for a shot to the shoulder and arrested on the spot. Zion was taken off in an ambulance and was handcuffed to his stretcher. I saw all the news cameras and saw police surrounding the scene as they led me to the exit in cuffs. I somehow couldn’t register the fact that I had shot my cousin.

  I saw Olivia sobbing in someone’s arms as they led me away. She called out to me, and I looked at her. But I couldn’t even find the words to say anything. I shook my head as the camera lenses clicked and the bulbs flashed. My party had resulted in my cousin laying near death in Times Square. All around us, I could hear New York City come to life. It was midnight. It was officially the year 2000. The party was over, my reputation was finished, and there I was making headlines again.

  I made bail. One million dollars bail. I had to put up everything I own. Dream snatched up Jordan and sued me for sole custody. She claimed that I was dangerous and that I was trying to keep her away from my son. I almost wished I had shot her instead of my cousin.

  Zion survived a bullet to the chest at point-blank range. He was hospitalized for weeks and, once again, the cops had to let him go. Zion had never pulled a weapon or injured anyone at the party, so they couldn’t arrest him. Olivia was by his side day and night as he recovered. It reminded me that I had a woman who loved me like that once, and how I blew it. I was being charged with critically injuring Curtis—my very own cousin. My Aunt Inez wouldn’t even speak to me. My mother and Grandma were devastated. I felt like shit and nothing really mattered anymore. To make matters worse, I was also being charged with money laundering. Apparently, the cops had obtained enough information from Doug—and then Curtis—that they felt their case was strong enough to try me. They wanted me to flip on Zion. It was all crumbling down.

  Lucky called me one night and I was so happy, for a brief moment, to hear her voice.

  “Hi, Lamin. I had to call to see if you were okay. I heard about what happened
with Curtis. I’m sorry.” She seemed to stumble over her words, trying to say the right thing.

  “Yeah. It’s all fucked up now, Lucky.” I took a swig of my drink. “But it’s good to hear your voice, though.”

  She sighed. “It’s good to hear yours too,” she said. “I want you to know that if there’s anything I can do, I’m here.”

  My heart skipped a beat. “Can you come over here, please?” I knew I sounded desperate. I knew I sounded pitiful. But I wanted nothing more than to see Lucky at that moment. “I just need to see you,” I said.

  My response was met with silence. Then, she spoke. “Lamin, I can’t. I’m with somebody else now, and I can’t do that. We both know that if I come over there, we’ll end up making love. I’m happy with someone now, and I don’t want to do that to him.”

  After that, we ended the conversation quickly and I was left with my diminished ego. That’s when I stopped caring anymore. Whatever will be will be. I locked myself inside at my New Jersey mansion and thought it all over. Me, a bottle of Hennessy, and my .45 Magnum.

  I smoked a whole blunt of purple haze. I was halfway through a half gallon of Hennessy. I sat with a drink in my hand on the living room couch. It was over as far as I was concerned. Curtis was on life support, so if he died, I would have to live with that hangin’ over my head for the rest of my life. I let Papa down. He told me to be an example for my cousin, and I had shot him. I was finished. It was all eyes on me. And I was tired. So I sat on the couch in my empty mansion, listening to a CD blaring from the stereo speakers. Everything was fucked up. I took the gun off the table and held it in my hand as I listened to the song’s lyrics.

  “I don’t wanna live no more; Sometimes I hear death knockin’ at my front door.”

  I twirled the gun in my hand, not concerned about whether the shit went off and blew me away. Didn’t give a fuck! I was ready to die! Everywhere I went, cameras clickin’ constantly. I was givin’ up. Fuck it!

  I put the barrel to my right temple and closed my eyes. I was high as hell. I sat like that for the longest time.

  I listened to the lyrics.

  I seized the trigger and

  BOOM!

  BOOM … Damn!

  I was so fucked up, I wondered for a second if I had pulled the trigger. BOOM!

  “I don’t wanna live no more.”

  BOOM … What the … ?

  I looked at the gun in my hand, and I was mad that somethin’ had stopped me from endin’ everything.

  BOOM! BOOM!

  The fuckin’ door. Who the fuck was bangin’ on my door like that? I half stomped and half staggered over to the door with my pants saggin’ and the gun in my hand. I was prepared to shoot. Ready to die. I cocked my gun and swung the door open. My gun was aimed in the face of the person standing behind it.

  “Drop yours and I’ll drop mines, Lamin!”

  Olivia?

  “I’m not fuckin’ playin, La! Get that fuckin’ gun out my face!” My sister held her nickel-plated nine in her outstretched right hand.

  I would never hurt her. She knew it, but she still looked scared to death. She must have seen the haze I was in. Somewhere between life and death. Twisted from both misery and narcotics. I turned the gun on myself once more, directing it at my temple.

  Olivia screamed, “NO! LAMIN, DON’T! LAMIN!”

  Olivia

  I had a feeling that my brother needed me that night. I knew he was upset about what happened with Curtis, and he seemed so vacant when I talked to him on the phone. I had called Lamin after I left the hospital where Zion was recovering. My brother sounded empty and tired. I just couldn’t relax after I hung up with him, so I decided to go to his house. I drove there alone—I left Adiva with my grandmother—and as soon as I parked, I banged on his door with a vengeance. The longer it took for him to get to the door, the harder I knocked. I had an indescribable feeling in the pit of my stomach. I didn’t know if somebody was gonna hurt my brother, was somebody after my brother. I had my gun out when I got there because I didn’t know what to expect.

  When he opened the door, I couldn’t believe he had the gun in his hand. I could tell he was drunk, and I had never seen him look so terrible.

  “Lamin!” I couldn’t believe my brother put the gun to his head. “Put it down! You can’t give up and leave me by myself. Please, Lamin!” I was hysterical.

  “I killed him …” Lamin’s voice was so low, I could hardly hear him.

  “CURTIS IS NOT DEAD YET! PUT THE FUCKIN’ GUN DOWN, LAMIN!”

  My begging caused him to hesitate, and in that moment of delay, I threw my arms around his neck and held on for dear life.

  “I won’t let you die, Lamin!” I held on tight while I sobbed into his neck. “We’re all we got. I won’t let you die.” To my relief, Lamin dropped the gun at his side, and I took it out of my brother’s hand. I hugged him so tightly, and he cried in a drunken haze. So don’t tell me real men don’t cry. Lamin is as real as it gets. We both cried, and I held on to my brother. He was on the edge of life, ready to jump. And I pulled him back. Because I loved him too much to let him fall.

  EPILOGUE

  the everyday struggle

  Lamin

  So here I sit today. November 21, 2002. I was acquitted by a jury of my peers in connection with the murder of my cousin. The jury bought Maury’s argument that the whole thing was self-defense and I walked. There was a press conference afterward, and I thanked all of my supporters. I was happy to be free, yet so sad about the state of my family, about the state of my life. Curtis was dead. I was responsible. And I would never be the same again.

  The trouble didn’t end there, though. I’m still facing trial on the money-laundering charges. My mother died of AIDS in the spring of the year 2000. Grandma is holding the family together. Aunt Inez visits Curtis’ grave every Sunday, and she still won’t speak to me. Uncle Eli is still a waste. Olivia is still in love and raising pretty Adiva with Zion. We tell Adiva stories about Papa all the time.

  Dream and I got divorced. I lost custody of my son, Jordan. Dream used what happened on New Year’s Eve as proof that my lifestyle was dangerous to our son. So the judge awarded her custody and gave me some bullshit visitation rights. Now, I’m seeing my son on weekends, just like she said I would. I hate her for that. I really do. I wish I never met her. To make matters worse, the bitch went on Mindy Milford’s radio show telling the tri-state area details of our sex life, our marriage, our finances, and my friendship with Zion. She’s the tackiest bitch on the planet!

  Lucky will always be the love of my life. She just won’t let me love her anymore, and I understand. She takes my calls every now and then and when I do get to talk to her, it brightens up my day every time. She moved on, and she’s doing good with her life. Papa was right. She is the one that got away.

  And then there’s Zion. There is an invisible wall between us now. Zion probably feels like I left him hangin’ when the heat was on him. Now I’m the one being charged, and I see how I could have done so many things differently. It feels like Curtis is still driving a wedge between us, even though he’s dead. I feel guilty for killing him, and I think Zion feels guilty somehow, too. I believe that our friendship will weather this storm, though. At least, I hope it does.

  I found out after his death that Curtis did talk to the cops and hand over evidence. Zion was right all along. Curtis was a jealous-ass snitch. I felt betrayed by a Judas in my own family. I had doubted Zion when it was Curtis I should have been watchin’. Zion has his own charges he’s facing—money laundering, conspiracy, witness tampering—plus the grand jury is deliberating about whether to charge him with Donovan’s murder. My attorney says that without Curtis’ testimony, the DA can’t build a case against either one of us in connection with what happened to Donovan. But if it comes down to it, will Zion ride with me? I ain’t too sure. Only time will tell. But I do know that I always have to keep one eye open and stay one step ahead of everyone else. That’s one of the
many lessons I’ve learned on this journey called life.

  I think about Papa sometimes. I remember when he was dying in the hospital. He said something to me that I didn’t understand. He told me that I needed to forgive myself. I didn’t understand it then, but I certainly get it now. I wonder if Papa knew how relevant those words would be someday. I’m beginning to forgive myself—for killing Curtis, for my bitterness toward my mother, and for letting the one that got away slip from my grasp.

  Eventually, the ghosts of my past will come and haunt me again. But in the meantime, I just take it day by day. Another day, another struggle.

  The Slams of Shaolin

  A village known as Shaolin is where my home is found

  Where the souls of our ancestor slaves nestle the earth of Sandy Ground

  Fuck Richmondtown, the mansions, and all the historic homes

  I’m talking about Stapleton, the Hill, the Harbor, Now Born, and the Markham Homes

  Shaolin’s where every ’hood stands tall and proudly waves its flag

  Let’s go on a tour of the borough I’m from … excuse me if I tend to brag

  The Harbor is where mosquitoes swarm and it’s survival of the fittest

  In the Big Park cats play handball and basketball while the hustlers handle business

  All the guys look good on Brabant Street and the girls are fly like they should be

  It’s the home of fallen soldiers like my nigga Frankie Woodley

  It’s known as Jungle Nation and if my memory serves me good

  That means JoinUsNGainLifeEternal NeverAttemptToInvadeOurNeighborhood

  Next up is Park Hill—Little Africa—Land of the Wu

  Where dollar vans circle the block

  and 5/0 circles the same blocks, too

  It’s known as Killa Hill because the shit is just that real

  It’s every hustler’s paradise;